


Deeply Scored

by Creative_Cabbage



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, One Shot, Soulmarks, Soulmates, cuteness, insecurites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creative_Cabbage/pseuds/Creative_Cabbage
Summary: Lardo's soulmark showed up at age 5.She didn't want it.Now With Chapter 2Shitty's soulmark showed up at age 7. He wanted it. Kind of.





	1. Chapter 1

Lardo’s soulmate mark showed up during art class in kindergarten. She thought it was paint, and scrubbed her arm raw in the shower trying to get it off. It was only when the crimson blob solidified into a name did she fully understand what it meant. And she cried. 

Mama had a soulmate mark just like this. A different name, a name connected to a face that Lardo had never seen. She remembered the first talk about this stuff on her fifth birthday, and her mother explaining that sometimes soulmates didn’t always work out. Sometimes it was all just a little much for both parties. 

Mama smiled at her during this talk, but the sadness was deep in her eyes. Sadness always crept into Mama’s face when she talked about soulmate marks. She saw the sadness lingering in her features as Lardo raced downstairs to show her the scrawling handwriting on her arm, yelling, “Mama! Mama! Look!” 

“That’s great sweetie! Let’s go out to eat tonight to celebrate!” But at dinner that night Mama drank one glass of wine more than she normally did. And she looked so sad. 

Lardo didn’t want to be sad. She didn’t want to be Mama, relying on a glass of wine as a pick-me-up every night. And afternoon. And sometimes in the morning, but only on the really bad days. 

She associated the name on her Mama’s wrist as the source of sadness. Lardo began to associate soulmarks with misery, especially as the other kids teased Lardo on the weird name written on her forearm. 

She didn’t want her soulmark anymore. She didn’t want to be permanently tied to whomever this “Benvolio” was. He had only brought her, and Mama, misery so far. Deep lines of sadness in the face and a bottle of wine every night were all that this name was going to bring. 

Lardo started wearing long sleeved t-shirts. The kids couldn’t tease her about a soul mark if they didn’t see it. Mama supported it, giving Lardo $20 and dropping her off at Goodwill. And so began her closet constantly full of old sweaters and long sleeve t-shirts. She liked the bright colors, and the weird styles that varied from rack to rack. 

She started painting that day too. There was a whole bin full of someone’s old oil paints. The store next door had paper for cheap. It reminded her of the first and last day she had been glad to see the red mark on her arm. It reminded her of a simpler time, before she had to worry about heartbreak, and getting Mama home safe every night. 

She learned exactly where her ‘soulmate’s’ name had come from in 10th grade Honors English. She learned to hate her soulmark a little less, instead imagining a man dressed in Shakespearean garb come and sweep her off her feet. It was a silly fantasy. She hid the painting of her daydream in the back of her closet, only dragging it out on the really bad days. 

She saw all her art friends finding their names on their soulmate’s arms, she watched them kiss and hug and take each other to prom and to coffee shops. And she wanted it. She didn’t want to want it but they were so happy. She had never really been happy. Ever. 

She dated a girl named Emilie in 10th grade. It was a few months after reading Romeo and Juliet, and Lardo figured out that her soulmate had to be a man. So she dated women. All the happiness of infatuation without any of the worry about matching marks. 

Emilie broke up with her that summer. Her arm said Ronda. Lardo’s name wasn’t Ronda, but the girl Emilie met at camp was. Being just-friends was hard. Emilie’s grins at the texts Ronda sent made her long for who ever this stupid ‘Benvolio’ was. 

She blamed it on hormones, cut her hair short, and burned the painting in the back of the closet. 

Samwell was the perfect fit. Emilie and Ronda were going to school out west. Her art friends were finding other places, other niches. At Samwell she could study art, and she could keep dating women. She could be 1 of the 4, and refuse to find Benvolio. 

Instead of Benvolio she found Shitty. And Shitty was fifteen times better than any stuffy ‘Benvolio’ could ever be. He was no pressure, he was chill. He gave her a whole new social sphere, and found her a job. He taught her to skate, and she taught him how to paint. They laid on the roof of the Haus for hours confiding in each other; bonding over exactly how fucked up parents could get. 

The one thing they never talked about was soulmarks. Maybe brushing on the theories about them, posturing on what caused them, or the heteronormativity of a large majority of them. But they never talked about theirs. Lardo assumed Shitty’s was somewhere hidden under his mane of hair because. Well. A lot of the time spent together Shitty wasn’t wearing clothes. 

She never showed hers off. She wore long sleeve t-shirts, or covered it in paint splatters. She was thinking about just saying fuck it and going to get a tattoo over it, like her mother. But the memory of the painting in the back of her closet always got her. Her fantasy always got in the way. And so she bought more jackets. And she cut her hair even shorter. 

She tried not to care that everyone around her was finding love. Her artist friends were always gushing about their boyfriends, or how one of them had met the third boy named John and that this would be the time. Lardo hated their optimism, and ranted to Shitty about how fucked up the whole system was, even as the high started to overtake the frustration. 

 

She didn’t understand Shitty’s frustration at having to cut off his hair. Lardo did it all the time, and tried to explain to Shitty exactly how cathartic it was to just to grab a pair of scissors and just hack away. 

She dropped the scissors when she found out. They stuck in the floorboards of Shitty’s room, a centimeter away from her foot. She didn’t notice, all she could process was the crimson Larissa scrawled across her neck. In her messy handwriting.

“Holy fuck.” She backed away from Shitty until her back hit the door. “Shitty why-” 

He swore and lept to his feet, turning around and nearly stepping on the scissors. “Lardo, wait, I can explain.” 

“Unless you know another Larissa, I don’t want to hear it.” Her hand scrambled for the doorknob, bolting out of that Haus as fast as she could, getting to her studio as fast as possible, locking the door behind her. 

Shitty had a key. She should barricade the door, but she couldn’t move, or breathe normally. She could feel an erratic pulse thrumming in her chest. This was the worst of the worst. This was bad, she’d never felt this before. 

B. Knight. 

Benvolio Knight? She let out a hysterical titter. No wonder he prefered to go by Shitty. 

No wonder her mother drank. Now that she knew -Really knew - she couldn’t deny it. Shitty wasn’t better than any other soulmate possibility. He was her soulmate. He was that stuffy Benvolio that she’d always imagined. 

But he wasn’t stuffy. He was funny, and nice, and kind, and caring, and funny, and understanding, and. And. 

“God I’m fucked.” 

Shitty didn’t even come looking for her until 24 hours later. She hated him and all of his fucking respect. She didn’t want him giving her space, she wanted him to find her and shake her out of all the self hatred running through her body just like he always had. 

But that was as a friend. This would be as a. 

Fuck. 

She let him in anyway. He didn’t even use his key, he stood out there knocking and expressing his concern for her. He was worried she hadn’t eaten, but he still didn’t want to infringe on her space. She wanted to scream at him, claw his face off, and yell and hit, and drag him until his lips brushed hers and that stupid mustache tickled her upper lip. 

She threw the studio door open, and stood there, taking deep breaths, trying to swallow down the anger. 

“Larissa-” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“It’s not Larissa. That’s the name of your soulmate. I am not a soulmate. I don’t want a soulmate, I don't’ want to fuck this up. I don’t want to lose one of my few links to sanity, I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want to rely on anyone or anything. I don’t want to be my mother!” Her voice mounted until she was standing there, digging her fists into his chest and screaming. 

He put his hands on her shoulders, backing her into the studio and closing the door. “Lardo. Breathe.” 

“STOP!” she shrieked. “Stop being so damn nice and respectful of my space. Stop, stop, stop.” 

Shitty fell silent. The room fell silent. Finally. “Let me see it.” 

“See what?” as if she didn’t know. 

“Your mark.” 

Lardo looked at him; stared into his stone face. He wasn’t going to back down, not until she bared the name scrawled on the inside of her right elbow. She shrugged off her denim jacket, tossing it to the side. She let Shitty take her arm, callused fingers catching on her smooth skin as he ran his fingers across the name written there. 

He laughed. “I am so sorry.” 

“What?” she asked, he shouldn’t be laughing, she was pissed. This shouldn’t be a laughing kind of apology. 

He laughed again. “That fuckin’ name. It’s so bad.” 

“It’s pretty shitty.” she giggled, then gasped. “Is that where you got your nickname?!” 

“Ch’yeah.” 

“At least you don’t have Lardo tattooed on your neck. Then we both would’ve gotten mercilessly teased.” 

“I like Lardo better than Larissa. And I got teased for it enough.” 

 

“I like Benvolio better,” she grinned. “I’ll have to start calling you Benji.” 

 

He poked her in the stomach. “You. Will. Not.” 

 

She poked him back. “I like your haircut Benji.” 

 

“I like yours too, Rissa.” 

 

She gasped, and slapped him. “No!” 

 

“You asked for it, calling me Benji!” 

 

Lardo made an exaggerated gasp, “Did Benvolio Shitty Knight, feminist extraordinaire, just say ‘you were asking for it’?” 

 

Shitty tackled Lardo onto the floor, laughing as she shrieked, “Unsportsmanlike conduct! Penalty box for you Mr.!’ 

 

Shitty hovered above Lardo, on all fours. They were staring into each other’s eyes, and Shitty murmured, “I’d really like to kiss you Lardo.” 

 

She flinched, her eyes scrunching tight. By the time they were open Shitty was apologizing profusely, and clambering to his feet, talking about giving her more space, and how he could get over it, and it wouldn’t be an issue. “Friends. Just friends.” He insisted, even as Lardo stood in front of him, looking up into his eyes. 

“Shitty.” Lardo said. “It’s okay. I-I” and dammit this was hard to say. To admit that there was some part of her that loved her soulmate, even with all the obstacles in the way. She wanted so badly to just give into the want thrumming between them. “I-I want to talk about this. Stay. Here.” She reached out a hand. 

 

They went to the mess hall instead. Tucked in a corner, both of their plates heaped high they talked about all things they’d never dared discuss before. Lardo talked about her mom, and the sadness in her face, and how her dad had left. “I can’t put myself through that. She- she’s in rehab because of him.” 

 

“Lardo.” Shitty squeezed her hand. “I’ll never leave you. Unless you call me Benji, then all bets are off the table.” He handed her a napkin. “And even then, I’ll come back. I swear.” 

 

“So. Why did you hide it? I had a reason, you knew my real name.” 

 

“Same reasons. Insecurities that it wouldn’t work out, that we’d be like my parents, separated and always fighting. My life was hell, like yours, and I didn’t want to have that. When I met you, I figured I’d test the waters first. Then you told me you didn’t want to meet your soulmate, and I kind of just gave up. I wanted to respect your boundaries.” 

 

Lardo gasped, “Shitty I’m so sorry.” 

 

“Don’t apologize. We’re fucked up kids, and this is going to be damn hard enough as it is.” 

 

Lardo shook her head. “I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” 

 

Shitty nodded. “Thank you. And Lards?” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“About earlier, about not losing your best friend, and your refuge? I’ll never leave you, I was serious about that. And if you really don’t want to go through this romantically, I’m fine with that. I get it. We can be platonic soulmates.” 

“Shitty.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I haven't let myself think about my soulmate since I was 8. I think it’s time I stop denying myself the pleasure of getting to know mine.” 

Shitty smiled. “Okay. Let’s do this then?” He stuck his hand out, looking for a handshake. 

Lardo rolled her eyes at him, and leaned across the table, pressing her lips into his. The mustache tickled. It was nothing like she’d never expected. It was better than any painting, better than any fantasy. 

“Benvolio?” Lardo giggled at Shitty’s look. “Take me home. Let’s figure this whole soulmates thing out.” 

They curled up together on the green couch in the living room, basking in the silence of an empty Haus. Shitty’s finger traced the swirls of his handwriting on Lardo’s arm as they talked, and she played with the hairs at the nape of his neck, fingers dancing along the top of her name. 

It was one of their usual talks, but closer. It was more comfortable than they had ever been together, as if something knew had clicked into place between them. It was a lazy talk, going late into the night. 

Somewhere around 1:00 Lardo yawned. “Shitty?” 

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding equally sleepy. 

 

“Take me to bed.” She said, shrieking with laughter as Shitty swept her into his arms, carrying her bridal style to his room. Her palm lay flat on the back of his neck, his mark tingling against her palm. 

It felt right. This felt right. Lardo never figured the crimson scrawl could ever give her feeling of happiness, but falling asleep flopped across Shitty’s chest was the happiest she had ever remembered being. 

“Night Benvolio,” she murmured, drifting off to the warm sound of Shitty’s laugh.


	2. Shitty's Perspective

Shitty was seven years old when he started growing his hair out. He was also seven years old when he first saw the yellow blotch of his soul mark. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t growing out his hair to hide the mark. He was rebelling against his parents. 

 

Everything he did was about rebelling against his parents. He hated them, he hated how they talked to each other, and he hated those fancy dinner parties they dragged him to. He didn’t want to be like them. He wanted to be like his caretaker, Rosa. 

 

She was kind and sweet and nice. She slipped him extra desserts when they ate together in the kitchen. Rosa sang him Spanish lullabies to put him to sleep.  Rosa braided his hair for him as it grew out long and taught him lessons about how he should treat people.  

 

“Treat everyone like they are human,” she would tell him. With her long nails scratching along his scalp as she braided his hair.  “That is why the golden rule is Treat everyone the way you want to be treated.” S

 

She was happy for him when Shitty ran to show her his soul mark. "Treat her right, boy and you'll have a friend for a lifetime," she told him, sliding him a cookie with a wink. 

 

He was eight when he told her that he loved her. Shitty was also eight when his mother fired her. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because of him. His mother wanted his Grandmother to raise him, not some stranger.

 

Shitty hated his grandmother. She called him ‘Benvolio’ in a horrible voice, and yelled a lot. She never gave him any dessert, she never braided his hair. She gave him vegetables and threatened to cut off his hair whenever he disobeyed her rules. 

 

It was the best day of his entire life when his mother sent him to a private junior. high. He was finally leaving this hellhole for upstate, and he’d only have to see his parents on holidays. It was a dream come true. Sure, he had to cut his hair short to go, but he was willing to compromise. 

 

Shitty was willing to do anything to get out of that house. He joined hockey in 6th grade to ensure he didn't have to go back home for the summer and to piss his parents off. They told him that ‘sports weren’t for people like them’, but they couldn’t stop him. And he liked it, he liked skating, he liked the rush of adrenaline when he won. He liked feeling like a normal kid for once; out on the ice,  the prestige in his life vanished. 

 

He liked the people on his team JV team. They gave him a nickname, laughing how his real name was so ‘shitty’. The nickname carried on onto the varsity team. 

 

It was then that he learned how horrible people could be. For the first time he hated hockey, and he hated almost everyone on the team. 

 

They were the hotshots of the school, hitting on girls, going to parties and having sex. They treated women the way his father treated women. 

 

Shitty hated his father. Shitty hated his teammates. They mocked him for his ideas of treating women as equals, they mocked him for his soul mark on the back of his neck. 

 

“Soul marks are dumb,” the senior captain told him in his sophomore year. “Life’s short, sleep with as many women as you can before you go out. Monogamy, overrated.” he slurred and pointed with his beer bottle at a kid in the corner, a kid who had Weston scribbled on his collar bone.  “Oh, an' Watch out for fags like him.” 

 

Shitty got expelled for punching that same kid a month later. The report said it was for 'instigating a fight' but failed to mention Shitty defending a girl's honor. All it said about her was that she was asking to be felt up based on her outfit choices. 

 

Shitty wished he could have punched the headmaster before he left. 

 

His father sent him to public school as a “punishment". It was a lesson to show Shitty what happened when he acted like the common rabble. It wasn’t much of a punishment. The last two years of high school were some of the best years of his life. Hockey became fun again, and he actually enjoyed himself at parties. 

 

He met his first girlfriend - Ellen-  at a high school party his junior year. Her soul marks read Derek, and his read Larissa, but Shitty loved her. They tried pot together for the first time, laughing and making out and having sex. 

 

Shitty’s dad slapped him on the back when he found out, "I don't even mind, Ben. I'm glad you finally conquered your woman. Now you're a man." 

 

It hurt to bite back a, "Thanks, Dad, but she was on top." 

 

It hurt, even more, to watch her find Derek, and wave them goodbye as they left to go to school in California. 

 

At least his father had said he could go to Samwell. At least he wouldn’t have to go to Harvard for another four years, and he could play hockey. He could escape the weight of being a Knight for four more years. 

 

It was the happiest day of his life when he arrived in his (single) dorm room and watch his parents drive away. He wouldn't have to see them for months. He wouldn't have to see them ever if he played his cards right. He was finally free of his legacy, and his parents, and his name. 

 

They only knew him as B. Shitty Knight here. They only knew him as a "frog", a freshman all too eager to get ice time during practice. A frog that usually went unnoticed in the background.

 

Johnson, a sophomore, was one of the few upperclassmen that took the time to notice and talk to him. He plunked down next to Shitty and another freshman at the first team breakfast. 

 

"Shitty, Jack Zimmermann. Jack Zimmermann, Shitty." 

 

"Nice to meet you." 

 

"Yeah. You too." Jack refused to look up from his cereal. 

 

"Look. I get it, man, you're worried I'm only talking to you for who your family is. I get it." 

 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You do?" 

 

"Ch'yea. The Knights are an elite lawyer bunch, who everyone who was anyone wants to rub elbows with. Even if it is their defective son." 

 

Jack looked up from his Froot-Loops, grinning. "Defective son, eh? I  get that." 

 

"You're not defective," Shitty said. "We all make mistakes." 

 

"What was yours?" 

 

"Punched a dude for being a dick. Wanted to not be an elitist asshole. Decided to treat women like human beings, there's a whole list of them, according to my father." 

 

"Ha ha. And I'm betting you already know mine, right?" 

 

"ESPN was a dick about that if you ask me. And I don't care, what's more, important is the fact that I am getting attached to you, Zimmermann. Now you have to be my friend." 

 

Jack did his weird 2 syllable laugh again. "Sounds good to me." 

 

They were fast friends. Bonding over Froot-Loops turned into coffees after practice, study sessions in dorm rooms. They explored campus together, hung out before and after practice. 

 

Shitty didn't think he'd have to jump to the defense of his new friend so fast, but here he was. 

 

"What did you say?" Shitty asked, turning on one of the defensemen. 

 

"Asked how your boyfriend there likes the taste of coke." 

 

How was Jack ignoring this? "Excuse you? What gives you the right to ask him something like that?!" 

 

"I don't want a fucking cokehead on my team!" 

 

“I don’t know about you, but I saw in the articles that they never mentioned a drug of choice." Shitty threw his stuff in his locker and slammed the door. Hard. "And, I'm guessing it was a pretty fucking traumatic event so why don't you lay off?" 

 

“This isn't any of your business, Shits. This is between me and that drug addict that somehow made it on this team."  He made a move towards Jack, but Shitty jumped in the way. They were chest to chest. 

 

“I don’t think it’s any of yours, either,” Shitty wasn't backing down. Sure this asshole was taller, but what he had in height Shitty had in sheer nerve. He'd punched a teammate before, he'd do it again. 

 

“He’s right,” and Shitty could feel the hulking presence of Johnson behind him. “Jack’s overdose has nothing to do with your plot arc.” 

 

Buddy scoffed at both of them, looked at his friend, scoffed again, and marched out of the locker room. “Fuck all of you, but I ain’t having that fucking drug addict on my hockey team.” And stormed out. 

 

"A man is stupid when he has to repeat his insult twice in one argument," Shitty said, turning to look back at Jack. 

 

The smile Jack Zimmermann gave Shitty was brighter than the fucking sun, and it made it all worth it. They were inseparable, Jack would hang out in his dorm when the whole world got too much. He didn’t seem to mind that Shitty preferred to not wear clothes, he only wanted someone to talk to. 

 

"Hey, Shitty? Wanna know something?"

 

"Always"

 

“It was anxiety meds," and though Shitty was high as a kite he didn’t think he’d ever forget the way Jack said told the story. “A doctor handed them to me, told me to take them as needed and sent me on my way. They made me feel so good Shitty, some days I miss them so much.” 

 

“Brah,” Shitty jumped off his bed and stuck his arms out for a hug. “That fucking sucks.” 

 

“Shits! What did I tell you? No hugging me without pants on!” 

 

“As if you don’t like what you see,” Shitty giggled and gestured to his entire body. “Everybody loves Shitty.” 

 

“Even if I were completely 100% gay, I would never say that your naked form is beautiful. 

 

“Wait.” Shitty’s brain fought to catch up, “Even if you were. Wait, are you at all?" 

 

"Is anyone  completely straight?" 

 

"Am I rubbing off on you?" 

 

“Maybe?" Jack laughed. "I just confessed two huge things to you, holy shit." 

 

“Lots ‘a people come out to me, Jack. I’m a person that encourages openness.” he looked at the clock. “Shit. I gotta get to class.” 

 

He'd never had a friendship like that before. Jack and Shitty against the world. There were no secrets, no boundaries, no rules. Well, Shitty had to wear clothes on Jack's furniture, but that was about it. They were open to each other. 

 

Shitty never had a friendship like that before. Not until his sophomore year when a freshman art student marched into the Haus. “I’m here for the managing position?” 

 

“You're going to want to talk to Rocky, er Roxanne Dunwell about that one. But she's in class right now?" 

 

"Can I leave a name and number?" 

 

"Sure," Shitty yanked a piece of notebook paper out of his notebook, scrawled Rocky's name at the top. "Shoot.

 

“Larissa Duan. 612-123-1234. LDuan30@samwell.edu” 

 

Shitty froze, looking at the name he had written on his paper. No, she couldn’t be. This wasn’t - it had to be different. It didn’t happen like this. Did it?” 

 

“Yo. Hey. Jeez man, you froze out on me. Did you get it all?” Larissa was asking, leaning over his shoulder.  “Oh, give me this.” she took the pen and wrote it for him. “There you go. Hope I'll be seeing you again-" 

 

“I-ah. Oh. Shitty." His brain was too hung up on the fact that her handwriting was an exact match. He was staring at his soulmate. Would it be weird if he called her? Should he blurt it out now, say his actual name? 

 

But Larissa had left. 

 

“I’ll get to know her first,” Shitty said to himself. “I’ll ensure she gets hired, I’ll get to know her, and we’ll talk and then I can show her.”

 

He achieved the first two. Lardo replaced Rocky, Lardo became injected into Shitty’s everyday life. She was at practice, she hung around the Haus, around Annie’s. They got coffee and did homework, they went to school plays, and art shows and concerts. They’d sit random places on campus, sharing a joint and just relaxing together. 

 

So Shitty didn’t tell her, and it didn’t matter. Sure, he was falling in love with her, but it didn’t matter. Being friends with her was good. Telling her that they were soulmates could wait until next year. If at all, they were such good friends, and after his parents? Shitty didn't want to fuck this up. 

 

And then she said it. At Annie’s, a post-practice cup of coffee before they went back to class. She just came out and said it. “I don’t want to ever meet my soulmate.” 

 

Shitty choked on the lump fast forming in his throat. Lardo didn't want a soulmate, she didn't want him. And, right there he decided that he had to respect it, even if this swirling of love and grief never abated. 

 

He swallowed it down and asked, "Why?" as normally as he could. 

 

“My mom’s was shit. I don’t want that for myself, you know?” 

 

“Yeah, I get it. The universe or whatever, fucked up my parent's marriage too. They never got along.” And the stupid part was he did get it. Shitty had spent so many years of his life not wanting to meet this Larissa, not wanting to have what his parents had. Not wanting to subject her to the living hell that was his family. 

 

And then he had met her. And she was great, she was everything he had ever wanted, she was funny and nice and kind and she understood him. She wanted to spend time with him, she wanted to be his friend. Only his friend. And he had to respect that. 

 

He didn’t tell Jack. He couldn’t vocalize this, he couldn’t do anything with it. He kept it inside, in the dark, and forgot about it. Lardo was his best friend. Jack was his best friend. And, even when Jack confessed to him that he thought Eric might be his soulmate he shut up about it. He did the same canned lie. 

 

“I don’t want to meet my soulmates. My parents fucked it all up for me.” 

 

Some part of him did forget about it. He grew his hair longer and longer, played hockey harder, and tried not to think about the impending countdown to graduation. 

 

He really didn’t mean for her to find out like that. He was stupid to ask Lardo to help him cut his hair off. Yet, here he was staring at the scissors stuck in the floorboards. Staring and listening to Lardo's footprints thump down the stairs. She was running away from him. 

 

She’d never done that before. 

 

Then again, he’d kind of betrayed her and lied to her for three years. 

 

And he understood it. Kind of. But, at least she knew. Right? Telling her was important, and now he had and now. Well. Now she was running away. 

 

He waited 24 hours to go see her. He told Jack, and got a haircut, and didn't sleep or eat. He paced, running his hand along the back of his neck wishing he could make this all better. 

He didn't think it would ever be better. She had locked him out, and he'd left the key for her art studio back at the Haus. 

 

“Lards, come on, you haven’t eaten in like 24 hours.” He had been reduced to begging.

 

“Go away Benvolio.” She said it like his mother used to, angry and sharp. 

 

“Please.” and he was reduced to sobbing. The door opened. And he had to start. “Larissa-” 

 

“No.” 

 

“No?” What was she denying, him, them, her name?

 

“It’s not Larissa. That’s the name of your soulmate. I am not a soulmate, I don’t want to fuck this up.” her words felt like hands tearing his heart out. “I don’t want to lose one of my few links to sanity, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, I don’t want you to leave” her fists slammed into his chest, and he almost rocked backwards, He didn’t, he let her finish, even with her tiny fists beating into his chest. Even as her voice got louder and louder, and she was screaming, her fists bunched in his t-shirt. 

 

He put gentle hands on her shoulders, pushing her back into her studio, and closed the door. “Lardo. Breathe. Stop.” 

 

Her next words were shrieks, “STOP! Stop being so damn nice and respectful of my face. Stop, stop stop.” The angry fists were back, and Shitty knew he would have bruises tomorrow. He didn't care. 

 

He took a deep breath. This Lardo, angry, irate and broken, was unlike anything he had ever seen. Nobody had ever asked him to stop being respectful, nobody had ever yelled at him for being nice before. 

 

“Let me see it.” the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

 

“See what?” How did she not know? 

 

“Your mark.” 

 

This was the one thing he wasn’t going to back down on. He needed proof; concrete proof, he needed to see it, and feel it. He needed to know, and he was not going to relent, even as she stared him down. 

 

It hit him, as she rolled up his sleeves, that she had never seen him like this before. He was always nice, and soft, not the hard edges that he felt now. Not the anger flaring in his eyes, or the determined ice to his tone. 

 

It vanished when a laugh burst out of him. Staring at that ugly name in an ugly signature made him laugh. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“What?” Lardo was still hard lines and ice, and eyes boring straight into his soul. 

 

Shitty didn’t care, he laughed again, unable to look away from his name on her arm. “That fuckin’ name. It’s so bad.” 

 

“It’s pretty shitty.” Then, thank god, Lardo giggled, and her face morphed into one of surprise. “Is that where you got your nickname?” 

 

“Ch’yeah.” as if that wasn’t obvious before. 

 

“At least you don’t have Lardo tattooed on your neck. Then we both would have gotten mercilessly teased.” 

 

“I like Lardo better than Larissa. And I got teased enough.” His brain brought up unfortunate memories of his parents and teammates mocking him. 

 

“I like Benvolio better.” And it felt so good to hear his name her chirpy tone, with a smile, stretched across her face.  “I’ll have to start calling you Benji.” 

 

He gasped and poked where he knew it tickled. “You. Will. Not.” 

 

She poked him back, “I like your haircut, Benji.” 

 

“I like yours too, Rissa.” 

 

She gasped and slapped him on the arm. “No!” 

 

“You asked for it, calling me Benji!” And they were back to their old dynamic. They were smiling and laughing, and it felt like nothing had ever changed. 

 

“Did Benvolio Knight, feminist extraordinaire, just say ‘you were asking for it’?” 

 

Nothing had changed, she was doing that chirpy laugh, and Shitty did what he always did. He tackled her, his hands ghosting along her sides. Her voice was mostly a laugh as she yelped “Unsportsmanlike conduct! Penalty box for you Mr.!" and slapped at his arms. 

 

He hovered above her for a few long moments, and it hit him over the head. He wanted to kiss her. That face, that laugh, he wanted to kiss her. 

 

It tumbled out of his mouth. "I'd really like to kiss you, Lardo." 

 

It had changed. He loved her, dammit, and nothing was ever going to stop this. Nothing was ever going to stop him from wanting to kiss her, to hug her. To simply exist somewhere near her. 

 

Lardo didn’t reciprocate. She didn’t want this, she flinched. Lardo cringed at the mere thought of it, and oh god he had fucked this up. He had ruined it, and he was backing away and saying words, and swearing and more words, and apologies. “Friends. Just friends," was how it ended. 

 

“Shitty. It’s okay” but it didn't feel okay. “I-I” She paused, but when she looked at him again there was trust in her eyes, and a hand extended. “I want to talk about this. Stay. Here.” 

 

“Maybe go get food?” Shitty asked, taking her hand“I haven’t eaten for 24 hours.” 

 

Lardo laughed, "Yeah, why not. Dining hall?" 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

They got a corner booth, their plates heaped high with food. And they started talking like they always did. They talked about soulmates, and each other, and parents.  

 

“Lardo,” he felt compelled to reassure her. “I’ll never leave you. Unless you call me Benji, then all bets are off.” The joke didn’t go over well. “And even then I’ll come back. I swear.” 

 

“So. Why did you hide it? I had a reason, but you knew my real name.” She wasn't looking at him anymore, instead staring at her empty plate.

 

“Same reasons. Insecurities that it wouldn’t work out, that we’d be like our parents, separated and always fighting. My life was hell, like yours, and I didn’t want to have that. When I met you I figured I’d test the waters first. Then you told me you didn’t want to meet your soulmate, and I kind of gave up. I wanted to respect your boundaries.” 

 

Lardo gasped, “Shitty, I’m so sorry.” 

 

It wasn’t her fault- she hadn’t known. “Don’t apologize, we’re fucked up kids, and this is going to be damn hard enough as it is.” 

 

“I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” It wasn't necessary, her apology. He'd forgiven her long ago. 

 

“Thank you. And Lards?” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“About earlier, about not losing your best friend and your refuge?” he took a deep breath. “I’ll never leave you, I was serious about that.” I love you, and that’s why it was so hard to say, “And if you really don’t want to go through this I’m fine with that. I get it. We can be platonic soulmates.” They had been, in a way, for years already, what was a few more?

 

“Shitty.” Her voice was serious. Too serious.

 

He really didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Yeah?” 

 

“I haven’t let myself think about my soulmate since I was 8.” And here it came. “ I think it's time I stop denying myself the pleasure of getting to know mine.” 

 

Shitty’s entire world brightened. “Okay, let’s do this then?” and he stuck his hand out for a handshake, not wanting to be in her face, and wanting to make her laugh. 

 

Instead, she kissed him, and everything changed. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted like the shitty mess hall gravy, but she was smiling and he was smiling. 

 

“Benvolio?” And Lardo’s giggle made his expression more playful than angry, “Take me home. “Let’s figure this whole soulmates thing out.” 

 

Shitty took her back to the (blessedly empty) Haus, tugging her onto the couch with her. He found his fingers tracing the lines of his signature along her arm. And, curled up on the couch, they just started talking. It was just a usual chat they’d had 100 times before, but it had changed. Lardo’s hand tickling the back of his neck made it so different. 

 

Around 1:00 Lardo yawned. “Shitty?” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Take me to bed.” 

 

She shrieked with laughter as he swept her off her feet, carrying her up the stairs bridal style. She laughed louder when he dropped her onto the bed, letting her bounce and lie there as he found them pajamas. 

 

She rolled on top of him when Shitty finally got into bed. Her chin dug into his chest when she looked at him, grinning, and whispered. "I think I'm falling in love with you Benvolio Shitty Knight." 

 

"I think I'm already there, Larissa Duan."


End file.
